The Alexandra Series (34 page)

He was careful with his task, setting up the tripod, fixing the camera to it, and then toying with the focus and lighting, so that it was exactly what he wanted.

“Go put on a garter belt, stockings and some slutty bra,” he ordered me, as if he suddenly found my peering eyes annoying. He waved me off with his hand while he continued to adjust the complex looking camera.

I knew how to dress for him, though I wondered what else I was dressing for, how many other eyes would see me receive whatever punishment he had in store for me. I hated the fact that this was arousing me.

Being photographed in sexual positions was one turn-on that Will and I enjoyed. He’d made several movies of me, and had taken dozens of pictures. But never had he photographed me in any stage of punishment—likely because he never punished me, not in the way Reggie did.

I found a rose colored bra, garter belt and stockings. Vain as I am, I wanted to look good for the video recording. A pair of beige spike heels, a little fresh make-up, and I looked like some man’s wet dream, even though I was horribly self conscious. Not that Reggie hadn’t seen me in all states of dress and undress, not that he hadn’t previously orchestrated all kinds of sexual exploits for me as his submissive; this was something altogether different with my reddened rear about to become the focal point for another kind of pornographic movie.

When I returned to the living room, he looked up at me, and smiled vaguely.

“I’m glad I don’t have to instruct you how to dress. At least that’s something you didn’t forget how to do.” He stared at my crotch. There were no panties to hide me, just the few wisps of pubic hair trimmed into a neat triangle.

“You taught me well,” I answered politely.

He chuckled. “Seems I taught you only what you wanted to learn,” he answered back. Though he didn’t sound sarcastic, the dig was obvious.

“Maybe you should charge admission,” I suggested lightly, observing the way he tinkered with his equipment.

“You’re having a problem with this, aren’t you?”

“No more than usual, maybe I’m just more vocal about it. I was a much more cowering submissive four years ago.”

“You’re more bratty now, yes, and hardly submissive at all.”

It was strange to hear him use the adjective ‘bratty’ to describe me. It sounded parental and condescending, and all I could think of was the story I’d read. Reggie was the ‘hired’ disciplinarian; and I the auburn haired woman in the story, finding myself aroused by the whole damned scene.

“I don’t ever remember you calling me bratty,” I said.

“Fits, doesn’t it? Go stand by your couch. And move for me a little.”

I obliged him, finding myself in front of the video camera, thinking actress, thinking what kind of performance I was going to give. It was potentially intriguing, even though I was still worrying over who this video was for.

When he was finished with the set-up, I knew the camera was rolling, hearing a soft whirring sound in the background. He put himself into the picture, joining me at the couch, sitting down comfortably so that the camera was at a forty five degree angle to us. There was something very purposeful about the placement of the camera and the couch.

He stared up at me as I waited for his next instruction.

“You forgot the hairbrush,” he said, sounding annoyed.

I shook my head puzzled, because that command hadn’t been given, but I took it as an order and went back to my bedroom to find what he wanted.

The old-fashioned mode of punishment intrigued me – the thought of his taking me over his lap again, this time with a hairbrush in hand. It was quaint.

However, it wouldn’t feel quaint at all once he got started. Taking the hairbrush from me, he pulled me down with an efficient motion, and had me with my bare behind high, wiggling and ready for him to begin. The first crack of the brush left me breathless, and the dozen stinging swats that followed were equally intense. In seconds, a significant burn was flaming its way all across my ass end. Then the hairbrush was flying everywhere, smack after smack creating the nastiest pain.

“I thought you decided this was too
mundane
for me!” I exclaimed when he finally paused. I recalled his words to Mr. Winningham, when he took me to his shop and introduced me to the toys I thought would define my punishment.

“I lied,” he said. He immediately began again, the fierce thing making its way across my rear cheeks with a terrifying zeal. With smack after smack, I wiggled and squirmed, and wailed nonsensical things into the air. To deliberately protest was clearly out of line. I was learning that lesson, or at least trying to.

Reggie seemed to center the spanking on the fleshiest part of my rear, but he was not beyond letting the hairbrush slip, laying several sharp smacks on the base of my rear and my upper thighs. I howled miserably when he hit those tender places. And at one point, I tried to get off his lap, raising the silliest full scale protest. I was reminded that Reggie was a lot stronger man than he looks behind all those perfectly starched clothes. Feeling the muscles in the arm that held me fast, their steely strength assured me I was going nowhere. I must have looked like a silly child, flailing myself the way I did. And to my further anguish, the awareness of his physical strength only stimulated me sexually in the midst of the dreadful pain.

When he suddenly stopped and pushed me off his lap, he looked at me with the same cruel coldness I’d often seen from him.

“Your brattiness exceeds your charm, Alexandra. You say you want this but your protests make me wonder. We’ll see how much you want what’s ahead.”

I wanted to cry, and it probably showed it.

“Careful of the theatrics,” he warned. “They only inspire me to greater heights of creativity.” His smirk was devastating. As I listened, I remembered that this was all on film, my humiliation, my red burning bottom and the expression of helpless chagrin that was likely blazoned across my face. I hardly needed to ‘act’ the part of bratty punished submissive.

He pushed my face to the floor. “Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

“But…” I started to protest, even as I tasted my prickly carpet.

“Hush,” he retorted. His hand at my waist felt like steel.

I adjusted myself to the position with my head and shoulders pressed against the hard surface, and my reddened rear cheeks raised high and facing the whirring camera. The heart of my most private place was now being filmed in all its flaming glory for God knows who!

The worst part of the position was my hands clasped behind me and held together by Reggie’s firm grasp. I was as bound as I would be if he’d used ropes to tie me.

The leather spanker, I assume the one he used on me in his office, replaced the hairbrush as the instrument of my punishment. Sitting on the couch, Reggie leaned in and laid a bevy of ruthless smacks on my stretched tight rear. The center of my bottom, that had for a moment calmed to a soothing warmth, was now flaming again from the wicked burn. The fierce punishment became one long rude roar of stinging pain that swept through me like a forest fire.

When he stopped for a moment, the pause was such a sweet relief, I wanted to bask in a sudden pleasant feeling that was replacing the pain. Unconsciously, I swayed my ass for Reg and the camera.

“You’re so ripe for this kind of thing, Alexandra. You never cease to amaze me.” His hand replacing the paddle, firmly kneading my sore ass cheeks. I replied by wiggling my bottom, thrusting it high to signify my approval of the vigorous fondling. Instead of continuing with the massage, however, Reggie picked up the leather spanker again, and began to wail on me with yet another round of smacks. He spent some moments on my thighs, while I roared with a noisy string of four letter words.

From mid-thigh to where my legs and ass joined became the target for a good dozen strikes. I wanted to collapse into the carpet to get away from them, but he pulled me up with his hand and barked some command, which I didn’t really hear, though I clearly understood his displeasure. Then he came down only harder against the sore stinging flesh.

“Please NOOOOOOOO!” I wailed at last, the first really clear protest of the session.

“Don’t like this?”

“NOOOOOOO!” I repeated my angry cry.

“Then remember who you’re doing this for, Alexandra,” he retorted nastily. The spanker walloped me again and again, though he’d changed his aim and was coming down again on the center of my bottom. I was exhausted and crying, tears dampening the carpet.

All was quiet once he finally finished. I remained in my awkward posture, waiting for him to do something, but I wasn’t really thinking of anything at all but my blazing bottom. I came to, realizing that Reggie wasn’t on the sofa anymore. The whirring of the camera had stopped, and there was a chilling silence. Assuming that the punishment was over, that whatever he chose to record was complete, I waited for him to give me some kind of instruction.

I expected him to leave swiftly; Reggie’s abrupt changes could be called his trademark. With a wealth of raw, prickly, agitating energy gnawing at me, I’d be left to feel the after effects of the punishment with nowhere to find relief but by my own hand. For the moment, I tried to ignore the sexual warmth that was descending through me in powerful waves, but that was impossible. I knew Reggie could sense my anguish, and that gave him power over me. Still I could do nothing to inhibit what my body so dearly desired.

I expected him to grab up his camera and walk out the door. But then he shocked me, pulling me up by my locked hands. With a much more tenderness than I ever expected, he guided me to my knees and then to my feet. Holding my hands from behind, he walked me to the bedroom, his body so close that I could feel the rustle of his shirt and the soft silky feel of his pants.

He pushed me onto the bed, my face down, my bottom raised high. His hand still gripped my hands, and in that awkward position, my arms begun to ache.

“Please, Reggie,” I pleaded with him softly, tugging against his firm hold.

“Only if you’ll keep them out of my way,” he said, as he released his hold. My arms fell gratefully to my side.

I wondered what he was going to do, though not for long. He began smacking my ass with the palm of his hand as if he were starting all over again. It wasn’t long, however, before I realized that this was nothing like the earlier punishment, but something much lighter and deliberately sensuous. It was so unlike Reggie to suggest a sexual moment at this point of an intense session. If his intentions were sexual, I’d adore him forever – I was so ready to get off. Could he be as sexually aroused as I was?

Soon enough, several fingers slipped inside my sloshy wet cunt. They thrust and probed inside, while I groaned a happy response. His other hand began to probe my anus, first with one finger and then a second. I struggled to open for him, to relax the tight sphincter that always resisted such intrusion. I moaned several times when a sudden sharp pain leapt up. Again, I forced my body to relax.

“Better get used to it, I’m going to take you here,” he informed me – much to my surprise. His fingers probed me even deeper, wiggling nastily inside the unyielding space. This man of amazing gifts had stunned me once again and I was compelled to surrender, even if what he demanded of me was so difficult that I was sure to fail.

“Your ass is so perfect for this,” he purred as the probing continued.

There’d been only one other such intimate sexual moment in our sordid history. That time, we both failed rather miserably to make a real connection. But this was different, substantially different. I’d never felt such personal need overpower the often remote and mystifying Reggie.

“Oooo, sheeeeeeeeeesh,” I grimaced, when his deeper probing produced a fresh burst of pain.

“Relax!” he spoke with command. “You want this as much as I do.”

The firm assurance in his voice was strangely soothing, and I found myself relinquishing regardless of my fears to the contrary. I think he would have played with me forever to make me ready – and I wouldn’t have cared. It felt so vulgar and lewd, the most obscene thing I’d done in a long long while. In spite of the pain, I loved it. I could feel the driving force behind his desire, as he thoroughly seized my entire backside in a rough lusty assault. His one hand mauled me, slapping my rear cheeks with biting smacks, while his other hand continued to probe deeper into the dark terrain of my tightest channel.

My body was about to come. But suddenly the shock of cold liquid splashed along my cleft made me seize up taut as a bow, to which he immediately grabbed my hair in his fist, and whispered tersely, “Relax, slut, relax.” My body responded to his orders, and I knew then what he was about to do.

When he let go of me, he lowered his pants so I could feel the firm hairy skin of his thighs against my ass. Then he played with my pussy for a few moments, which heightened the orgasmic lust rising steadily in my crotch. He pinched my clit and I cried out. He slapped my ass several times to the tune of my passionate groans. Then he washed me again with the cold slippery liquid before I felt the first thrust of his cock at my rear door.

“Oh, yessssssssss…” was my only cry.

“You’ve always had the most fuckable ass,” his voice was dark and sensuous – I wasn’t even sure he was speaking to me, he was so much in his own erotic world. In one long slow invasion he pushed himself inside me to the very hilt.